


You Are The Only One I Want To Know

by Letsmakeittonight



Category: Oasis (Band)
Genre: Fact: Julia is the best beta there is, M/M, Messy, Shamelessly nsfw at times i do apologize
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-15 23:55:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10559872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Letsmakeittonight/pseuds/Letsmakeittonight
Summary: Liam loved to watch the white fabric of my sheets getting spoiled from the ash-traces of his morning cigarettes. He loved the way the spring wind made its way into our room and spread all my important notes over the floor. He loved when I bit his neck, just under the jawline when we had sex so he could give me a smug look at the dinner table when Paul asked about the marks.Me myself?I just loved him.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> after 4 months i've finally decided to post something here again. seeing there is no other available platform which i like i guess i will be stuck here lol. i may delete this when i wake up in the morning, who knows. it's worth it tho, with all the lovely reactions i've gotten from these disordered stories of mine. this is a piece i've been working on for quite a long time and it actually includes some of the first things i ever wrote, which is a bit fun. anyway it's going to be divided into three parts, all of them are finished and ready to be published and i will do that asap. 
> 
> (i'm not even going to excuse myself for the mindlessly changing pov, read it in whichever way you prefer) 
> 
> i hope you will enjoy, comments and thoughts are very appreciated xx
> 
> thanks to all who have encouraged and inspired me, ily.

  _I_

 

  _Living in sin_

_Living with him_

_Is all the things I never know_

 

~

 

You push my face down into the pillow and it smells of you. I rub myself against the sheets in a desperate manner because I'm so close and I know I promised not to spoil them, but it’s not that easy when your body is so warm against my own and your hands are so strong on my hips and you fill me up so perfect as if we were fucking meant to be.

Being with the girl from my geography class with the pink nail polish and the waitress-bird down the road were like cheap beer from the corner shop. And if I was more experienced in the drug aspect of life I would probably describe being with you as the finest cocaine, cut in perfect lines on a golden plate. No joke. Compared to that every other experience seemed to fade into a shade of unimportance, of boredom. I don't even remember their names but, every time I close my eyes, I see yours, as if it was written on the inside of my eyelids.

_Noel. Noel. Noel._

 ~

You know I sleep with the help from your pulse. Staying awake as well. Right now it beats steady against my sweaty palm which I have snuck up under your tee. Unconsciously I let my fingers caress your skin and you make a muffled sound, your hot breath tickles the side of my thigh, you always sleep like that, curled up like a cat against my body under the duvet. The tip of your nose moves, over my hipbone, to my neck, your messy hair appearing on the pillow beside me.

“I’m sick, man” the first thing you say, hoarse morning voice, squinting eyes. If I was one of those posh students, I would compare the sight to some highly valued masterpiece, which may have suffered from some moisture damage, red-edged eyes and sweaty patches over the face. But to me, who has the luck of having that masterpiece in my field of view everyday, that just makes the whole thing even more coveted.

 “You’re not, it’s called a hangover, darling” a heavy one as well, I can imagine: we went into town last night, payday for me which results in you getting spoiled in liquor. Literally had to drag you home me, holding your hair back when you vomited in a bin on the bus.

“I think I’m gonna die” you whine, hot mouth on my cheekbone.

“You’re not.”

“My head is killing me”

“You need some painkillers and some breakfast” I shake you off and get up from the bed, the floor feeling unpleasantly cold against my feet. You return back under the duvet with a groan and I leave the room. When I take the first step in the stairs, you call my name.

“Noel?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you”

I stand there breathing for a while. In and out. Then I take the next step in silence. I’m such a fucking coward. 

~

You are mine and you are ready. Laying spread out over the armchair where Paul usually sits when he watches telly. “Paul’s chair”. Well, it isn't anymore. I stand leaning over the edge of it, watching; admiring the way your teeth sinks into your lush bottom lip, or the way the muscles in your neck tense when you throw your head backwards. I wish I had a camera or a canvas or just a fucking photographic memory so I could capture this sight and keep it forever. I move my three fingers inside of you and you sigh, as if it was the easiest thing, no challenge: bring it on. Velvet heat, you give me sounds that are way past my most vivid imaginations. For real.

_“Noel...”_

I know you love this. My fingertips play with the fabric of your new Adidas sweater — the only thing you are wearing. I push it up a bit with my sweaty palm until your belly button appears before planting a kiss right under it. Your hand grips hard at the armrest, knuckles becoming white. The colour of the shirt is the same as your eyes, half hidden under heavy lids and thick lashes. I can't understand how it’s possible for them to be even more pretty than they usually are. But I know I want to tell you that. That you're pretty. Do things to me that nobody else does. That I love you so much I’m about to choke, perhaps? Instead, I push my fingers deeper until your toes is curling back and the blue gets stained in white. Easier that way.

Later, when it’s dark outside and Paul is home, we watch a match on the telly. He asks me what I’ve been up to today and I thank the Gods you're in the kitchen and not placed beside me on the sofa. I can picture your mischievous grin.

 “Just the usual, you know”. I shrug. When it should really be: fingering our little brother just in that spot where you're sitting now, and oh, I fucked him right there on our coffee table too. But then, again, that’s just the usual , isn't it?

 ~ 

 

We found a field behind the closed-down industries in the edge of town. You brought a bottle of 4 quid wine and I brought too many questions.

“Are you going to leave me for her?” I ask. Really, it means ’do you love her more than me?’. You take a deep sip from the bottle until it’s empty. I stare at you, straight into your eyes: angry that, after all that’s been, I still can’t read them. After a while you shake your head, your hair whipping around your ears.

“No.” you throw the bottle away in the grass and it shatters. I rest my head against your shoulder and you kiss me on the top of it three times and I feel you inhale between each one. But I know your answer is not true because I heard you and mam talk about apartments and moving boxes and keys in two weeks in the kitchen while I hid in the stairs. I don't say anything, though.

_Because sometimes a lie is the prettiest thing you got._

 ~

 I trace patterns on your back with my fingertip. The skin is warm, always so warm. My skin travels over the softness which sometimes is broken by a scratch, a feel of the bone of your ribs or a small scar from long- gone teenage pimples. You have three birthmarks in a vertical row between your shoulder blades. I remember that one time when we were drunk in bed and I tried to count all of them on your body. We only got to eleven before you laughed so much Paul pounded his fist into the wall because he couldn't sleep and we had to stop. You laugh now as well and I swear your eyes glow in the dark. I throw my arms around your neck and drag you the closest as physically possible, as if I had the intention to choke you. Your laugh vibrates through my body and tickles that cold muscle which is my heart.

Can you imagine that the lightest of nights actually wants to be with the darkest of days?

 ~ 

“I’ve been thinking about a thing, me” you yawn, jumping up to take a seat at the counter next to the stove where I’m making eggs for us. You look at me and I turn my head, rising my brows.

“Well, then?”

“Like... if I’m taller than you, why is your prick bigger?”

“For real? That's what you've been ‘thinking’ about? Bloody hell, Liam.”

“No, no, but it’s like... man, you’re shorter than me, your hands are smaller and you have feet like a bird, and then when you take a look in your knickers... that’s just there” the yolk starts to run out over the edges and you throw your hands out in the hair, sounding too serious. 

 

“I’m the _big_ fucking brother, it makes sense”

“No, it fucking doesn’t, it’s unfair.”

“It’s not like you use your dick that much anyways” I laugh under my breath, flipping the eggs over. You hit me over the head, rather hard. That’s what you get for being honest.

“Fuck you!” your voice echoes between the walls as I put both my hands on either side of your face and squeeze your cheeks together until your lips pout out and you look like a duck. You glare at me, really putting and effort into it so your brows furrow and almost meet at the middle, sticking your tongue out at me. 

~  

The window is open in our room. I can feel it when I enter the front door downstairs, cold winds that wipes over the floor and makes the calendar on the wall lift up a bit. 01.20. Our door is open too and when I enter you are sitting in the window frame, looking straight at me as if you sensed I was coming. In between your lips there’s a joint — that’s mine, and was laid in the top drawer on my nightstand the last time I checked. On the top of it you are wearing those stupid soccer shorts that are too short and you are very aware. You have hickies all over your thighs. I feel the huge urge to smash something against a wall. Your face maybe.

“You are beginning to look like that weird synth guy, I’m telling you” you're the first one to speak, blowing out some rings of smoke right into the room. Showing off.

“Hello to you too” I sit down on my bed, still undone since two days. Could be more. Probably is.

“Your hair is beginning to look like his, it’s like he’s turning you into his little mini-clone or whatever. Cunt clone” you keep on going, pulling a hand through your hair, apparently thinking you're _cool as fuck_.

“His name is Clint” I sigh, I know you know, you've spent too much time being jealous of him not to.

“Clint, cunt, whatever, it sounds the same, doesn't it?”

“You know I will make you pay for that one, right?” I say instead of answering to your so-called joke, nodding towards the roll between your fingers.

“Really? Don’t brothers share everything?” you act surprised, sticking your bottom lip out. I want to sink my teeth into it to make you shut up, and maybe because it’s wet and plump and tempting as fuck, a bit.

“If mam asks what’s smelling I will tell her it was you” I retort, like a some five year old kid.

“I have the window open, you dick.”

“It won’t help when you blow the fucking smoke right into here” I still don't look at you but I hear you shut the window, probably after throwing the blunt out. You walk over to me, crawl up on the bed on your knees behind me. You smell like grass and alcohol and those posh bakery shops selling expensive sweets.

“I waited for you, you know...” you whisper, two fingers touching my shoulder before drawing them back again when I snort harshly.

“I bet you did.”

 “You didn't come home so I went out. I met someone, you know, don't only save myself for you” your voice is in a different tone now, softer, more needy. When strategy one doesn't work, this is always number two on your list with the headline ‘ways to catch Noel’s attention’.

“I care because...?” I raise a brow. My mind is full of pictures of you and someone else, dirty hands all over your pure skin, the back of your head, dark curls between some guy’s legs. I need to take a deep breath through my nose.

“You don't like me anymore” your breath is on my neck, the tip of your nose as well and I feel the hairs there involuntary raising. Then they are there, the lips which I swear God stole from an angel and put on you, warm and sinful against my skin.

“Stop.” I mumble, weak.

You shake your head, start sucking on the spot right under my ear, tongue coming out to lick over the contours of what will be a love bite later. You shift forward, your thighs on each side of my waist. Next thing hands are possessively placed over them, perhaps a bit too hard, as if I could squeeze away those marks of a stranger which I already know I despite.

“You just like them, do you? Are you going away with them?” I realize you sound hurt now, a bit sad and wondering. Exactly like you did when you were a kid and weren't allowed to play with us out late in the garden. You used to sit inside on the kitchen table in your pyjamas with your nose pressed against the glass while mam combed your hair, getting you ready for bedtime. As the thought comes to my mind, my fingers reach back to touch the dark on your head, combing it with my fingers. You must lie when you say you don't use conditioner: it’s too soft.

“Not yet” I give you the faintest smile because I actually think you deserve that.

“Can I sleep here tonight?”

“Yeah.”

Of course you can.

 ~

Your new apartment has lots of woman ́s shoes in the hallway and a balcony. I can’t see you out there but I know you're sitting outside: clouds of smoke raises to the sky like big roses. I hope that you will come in soon, we are going to listen to records and drink wine and, hopefully, make out on the floor.

~

An arm comes to wrap itself around me from behind — your arm, surprisingly covered in satin fabric, small golden flowers painted over it. The look on your face is a mixture between smug and utterly satisfied when I turn around, the red silk robe tightly tied around your waist. You lean back at against the kitchen table, biting your lip to prevent a grin.

“That one is Louise’s, why the fuck are you having it on?”

“Oh, I thought it was yours” your head comes resting on my shoulder and you laugh straight into my ear, your freshly washed hair drips down on my shirt, cold drops traveling in behind the collar. I shiver before shrugging you off.  

“Please, just take it off” I return my focus to the boiling kettle on the stove and the tea I was planning to wake you up with.

“You want me to take it off?” you wiggle a brow and laugh, apparently enjoying yourself.

“Liam. It’s not... just cut it” my ears get pink at the tips, I can feel the blood flush — to lots of different places. I know you notice and it makes you chuckle. Your leg gets wrapped around my side, the robe falling aside and flashing your naked thigh. It looks shiny in the light. If you shaved I swear I’m gonna shoot myself.

“Says the one who bought me knickers for me birthday”

“Fuck’s sake, It was a joke, it was supposed to make you laugh, not... end of story.”

“They were too small anyway... but you still liked it.”

“I don't want to talk about this.”

“We can do other things, don't need to talk, eh?” you whisper, followed by the sound of the silk hitting the linoleum floor as you untie the ribbon and let it slide of your shoulder. Like a luxurious gift being opened. Just for me. When I turn around you wrap yourself around me, naked and smooth and as you kiss me I manage to get the blinds down in the window with a fumbling hand. But really, if someone saw us through the window, they would just have been lucky because I don't think they will ever lay their eyes on something as beautiful as this again. How I will explain to Louise why her robe is wrinkly and wet I don't know, though. 

~ 

We make dinner for mam on her birthday and I peel potatoes while you fry the meat in an apron that makes me smile. Paul has the music channel on in the living room and it changes the track. You say it makes you think about your old girlfriend. I think that it makes me think of you but I don't say it out loud. 

~ 

_“How long?”_

_“What?”_

_“Answer me.”_

_“A year.”_

Your fist collides with the side of my face, over the mouth, hard. The pain spreads itself up to the whole of my skull and I’m almost tripping over. It feels good. It feels great.

 

~  

The white and the grey takes a trip up to the roof in front of my eyes, draws patterns in the air. I stand in the window of our room and stare at the horizon that’s taken the same colour as cherryade and I kind of want to cry because you will not be home for a year. A whole fucking year.

But I can’t. And I promise myself I won’t. 

~

We are home alone, spending the night in the upstairs bathroom of all places. After two beers you wanted us to take a bath, bubbles and candles and Sally Cinnamon in the background because according to you it was “so fucking romantic, man”. But first, you insisted on me having a shave because apparently my stubble was “torturing you”. I didn't complain though because you gave me head under the sink in the meantime. I cut myself on the chin, which seemed somewhat unavoidable.

“C’mon, Noelie” your tongue licks at the small cut and you grab my wrist guiding my hand to your chest before drawing back. The water is low and you lay on your elbows, skin shiny from the water. It’s a bit flushed from the warmth, blossoms of pink growing over your chest and face. You're hard as well member lying resting near your hipbone, some transparent fluid gathering at the tip. Knowing you got to that state by only sucking me off makes my hand shake. Don’t know when I got this susceptible.

“Tell me what you're going to do” you say, resting your arms above your head, flashing the dark hair that grows there.

“What do you want?” my hand strokes your belly, smearing out the water over the skin. The answer to that question is already perfectly clear to me but I never miss an opportunity to actually hear you utter those words.

“I want... you to fuck me” you say and your gaze only lingers with shyness on your hands for one second.

Those moments are always managed with a clawing, breathtaking desperation because we know it’s probably the last time for long we will have each other. I never knew my hips could move in such a rapid pace and neither did I know you could use so much teeth while kissing. Your back gets pressed up against the ceramic of the tub and the thought that it might hurt doesn't even cross my mind nor yours. The water splashes around us in rhythm with my thrusts, spilling over the edge and wetting the floor. The music still fills the room.

“Tell me I’m her; that I am your world.”

”What?”

“Tell me.” your damp forehead is pressed close against mine, the tips of your noses rubbing together and I can feel you breath in my mouth. There’s two tiny drops of wet that linger in the corner of your eyes and I furiously wipe them away with my thumbs because they shouldn't be there. Your fingers dig into my back as if they could clasp themselves stuck there and I would have no other option than bring you with me. None of us close our eyes and mine gets dry with an itching sting but I don’t care because seeing that slight shift of shade and the spark in your blue when you come is such a eloquent thing.

And I lean even closer so I can utter a hot whisper into your mouth and watch with great avarice.

_“You’re fucking heaven sent.”_

 


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m longing for you.”
> 
> “But I’m here?”
> 
> “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new chapter yay
> 
> same au, same era, same angsty teen liam, same everything really except that noel is on tour during the whole time. 
> 
> i might call the first chapter "before", this one "during" and the last one "after" because that's the concept of all this really. 
> 
> enjoy!

 

_II_

 

_Sitting here I'm waiting_

  _The cause without a name_

  _Sitting here I'm waiting_

  

 ~

  

We have been holding hands all the way. In your way: the way when all fingers are twirled together tightly and the palms get sticky with sweat against each other. The way you hold your wife’s hand, or the girl you walk home from the cinema — or just some other person you happen to love. We aren't home and we aren't known, so it’s perfectly fine to walk along the coast of this small town in the south and hold hands like lovers do. You smoke and you are wearing a white tee which makes your arms look tanned, a summer boy who steals my cigarettes.

“Will you follow me to the train tomorrow?” you stop to lean against a lamppost, pulling me towards your chest.

“Wave you off with a white tissue like in the movies?”

“Yeah...” you smile until your nose get wrinkled and your eyes small. Like a tiger.

“If you want.”

“There will be time back at the hotel, right?”

“Time?”

“It’s been like three months since we... you know”

“Fuck, do you keep count of the days?”

“Shut up, I just... Noel.”

“Dear diary, Noel hasn't shagged me for weeks, sad face, and I-”

“Stop it.”

“Yeah yeah, we can fuck all night if you want”

“There was a nice tub”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Next morning the station is foggy I smoke my last cigarette and brush the love bite on your neck with my fingers, wishing I could take the last of my pocket money and buy us both tickets to Paris instead where we could walk around the coast and hold hands like lovers do and share beds at hotels all the time, everyday.

You make funny faces at me from behind the window in the train before it leaves and I spend ten minutes crying my eyes out in an alley on my way back to the hotel.

 ~ 

I wake up with a hairy leg thrown over my side. At first I think it’s you and when I realize, _of course_ , it isn’t, I feel so sick I could throw up all over the pillow. Across the bed there’s a mirror and I see I have a trace of spunk on my cheek but I can’t get myself to wipe it away. On the nightstand there’s a photo of a girl which I assume is his girlfriend. She has blue eyes and brown hair like me but not a fucking idea what a dickhead her boyfriend is.

He had the same scent as you when he sat down next to me at the pub yesterday. I hadn't smelled it for weeks and it sort of just hit me in the face and I was like under a spell when I followed him home to his flat. I asked him if he knew how to play guitar and if he could manage to have sex and watch football at the same time: if he could whisper dirty beautiful words in my ear and hit that spot deep within every fucking time, but still make comments about the players that give me tummy cramps because I laugh so much. Like you can. He answered that he didn't know, but maybe I could still suck his dick. My ear is always between your finger and thumb when you ask me that question. His hand laid flat against his jeans. I couldn’t feel your cologne in the air anymore, just sweat and wet pavement, but I still dropped to my knees.

I can’t find my underwear so I pull my sweatpants up over my bare skin before beginning my search for the bathroom. I rummage through the shelves in there and leave without saying goodbye and with a stolen perfume bottle in my pocket.

I will spray it all over my pillow and the following week I will lay with my nose buried in it and pretend you aren't on the other side of the ocean. Sometimes I will cry. Others I will have a wank. One time I will do both but feel rather pathetic after I come, throwing the pillowcase into the washing machine.

~

I fall asleep on the sofa with my face buried in my arms. Mam finds me when she comes home from work and puts her hand on my forehead mumbling that I feel feverish. In reality, it’s just because the tears were especially warm when I cried earlier. She makes me tomato sauce with letter-shaped pasta which was my favorite when I was little. I avoid all the N’s and L’s and in the end, they are the only ones left. I stare at them for a while. I notice how fucking pretty our letters look together. There are five of yours and nine of mine. I’m always superfluous. I spit in the bowl and throw them in the bin.

~

You lay on my chest, tinkering with the golden bracelet that’s around my wrist, holding the cool metal between your index finger and thumb. I can’t stop staring at the yellowish bruise under your eye. You said you didn't want to talk about it. I pull the duvet up over your back until I only see your head poking out.

“Give me a hickey” you whisper, keeping your eyes on the bracelet. I know you really want to say “give me something to keep until the next time” and I push your hair backwards. I undo the chain from my wrist and grab yours. It fits like it was made to be there and when I realize that my name that's engraved in the metal will be pressing against your skin all the time, my stomach feels warm. I imagine it leaving red marks when you take it of.

“Don’t lose it” I kiss your knuckles and your cheeks get pink. 

“Won’t ever take it off, man” you tell me with a yawn and closed eyes.

Before I fall asleep I spend some time listening to you snoring and I think that it’s such a fucking privilege to be able to sleep naked with the person you love.

Next day we go to the pub with the band and the rest of the crew. You always get uncharacteristically shy when around them. My discreet hand on your lower back doesn't seem to help either. The words _“alright”_ and _“yeah”_ seem to be the only ones leaving your mouth. There's been a cigarette in the way most of the time though, you're at your fourth now.

“Mam doesn't let you have a pint or...?” Graham nods at the glass of coke in front of you and sneers. I feel myself getting defensive, big brother instinct I guess. Or something else I don't want to mention. 

“Don’t want him to be too hungover on the trip home, do we?” I elbow you in the side lightly when I notice you are being a bit flushed there under the jacket collar.

“I will get the lad one” Clint rises from his chair and head towards the bar. When you reach for the glass with a nod and a “cheers”, I notice Clints gaze lingering a bit too long on your wrist and then he looks at me and winks. The bastard.

When we walk the unpleasant hotel corridors after you have left, Clint puts an arm around my shoulder. I just want to get into my room and take a shower and see if the sheets still smell of you or not.

“I can’t ever remember you buying Louise that sort of jewelry eh?” he sneers, drunk and close to my face.

~

My backpack digs into my spine hard and my stomach makes weird noises, crying for food. You order us burgers and I wear your shirt under my jacket.  
It reminds me of the first time we slept together and you were gone when I woke up. It physically hurt and I felt so small inside that big tee of yours I had used as pyjamas. I hadn't gotten around to cry with anger because you had turned up in the doorway with two bags of McDonald’s for us and scooped me up in your lap.

“You alright?” you had asked and I noticed my cheeseburger was without onion and I got all fuzzy inside because you had remembered I don't like that and ordered a special for me.

“Yeah” it was mostly true. Except that you had turned away when I tried to kiss you that night before. You hadn't been caressing my belly with your arm around me when we were about to sleep like you usually did. I wanted to know why and even if you kissed my neck now it was like a small itch on my heart that didn't leave.

“Your arse?”

“Could've been worse.” I chuckled with bread and ketchup in my mouth and then your hand found its way up under the t-shirt and stroked softly. I still wondered why.

~

I sleep at Bonehead’s for the weekend because mam works and Paul is out of town and I can’t fucking handle being alone in an empty house that’s full of things that remind me of you. He knows I’m sad even if I said I’m not and he makes dinner for me. His cat lays in my lap and I stroke the soft fur with the back of my hand. Then, without further warning, it jumps and scratches me with its claws on my arm. I think that it behaves exactly like you.

 ~

I try to convince you I have superpowers and you call me silly. I say that it’s true and that I’m immune to pain and that you could try yourself.

”I feel nothing man, I swear”

You pinch my skin between your fingers and I breath hard trough my nose not to reveal that it hurts. You kiss the bruise with soft lips and I spend the whole night looking at it with adoration because it’’s will be the only thing I will have left from you when I leave tonight. The blue reminds me of your eyes. I wonder how it’s possible to be sentimental at seventeen. 

~

_“I’m longing for you.”_

_“But I’m here.”_

_“I know.”_

~

The water from the shower is so hot it feels like it pierces my skin. I lean my back against the cool tiles on the wall and think of how long your hair has become since I last saw you. My body feels sore in the most lovely way and I just want to get back into the narrow hotel bed with the fluffy duvets together with you and drag my fingers through your new hair. You knock on the door hard and I have no time to ask what you want.

“I love you!” you shout and I get shampoo in my mouth.

The inside of my throat tastes of chemicals and I can barely breathe. Still, I’m completely sure this is what holy, untouched happiness feels like.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last part yay, thanks to all that have read and liked the story :')

 

_III_

 

_Living in sin_  
_Being with him_  
_Cause you are the one I never know_

~

“Missed you, though” you moan, sounding like you are in pain. All that gear lifting and speaker carrying has paid off, your arms are strong enough to hold me up when you fuck me against the door in your hallway. It has only been 20 minutes since you called me and said that you just had gotten back home to the flat and I ran out without a jacket and burning lungs.

‘I still hated you for leaving’ was the first thing I said when you opened the door. ‘I did not miss you’ the second. You didn't say anything at all, just pushed your face against mine until there was no space of air between us and inhaled and I felt that you wanted to cry. Every time you make a thrust my belt buckle hits the door with a clinking noise. Your nails dig into my thighs; you are coming and I know there probably will be red cuts there in the morning, but it will just be a reminder of how fucking beautiful it feels to not be missing or hating you anymore.

I sit on the sofa, well half of me, the other half is on top of you. Half naked and euphoric, drinking Coke from a straw and you can’t stop touching my hair. Only an idiot would complain. There’s a football game on the telly but the sound is off: you play a record.

“When I’m famous and rich...” you begin and I snort.

”As if”

”Eh hold on a bit let me finish, alright so I will write this song. The best fucking love song in the world and it will sell millions. And you know what? It will be about you” you say as I blow air out into the straw so the soda bubbles inside the can. I blush — fucking hate that — but it’s okay cause it makes you smile.

“Will you tell everyone? That.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I will probably say it’s about my bird I’m pretending to love. But we will know.” I lean my head on your warm shoulder, it burns a bit behind the eyes.

“Yeah. We will know.”

~

There's a place between your hairline and the collar of your jacket where your skin is visible. Small, but still enough for the tip of my nose to travel over it, to the left, until it touches the fabric, and back again. Your bike makes noises, as if it is about to break any second. Perhaps because we are too heavy now, not kids anymore. Or perhaps because it’s rusty as fuck since it’s been left to lay thrown in a damp garage. When you stole it five years ago it was red and shiny and I could let my legs hang free, they were too short to touch the ground. I think I loved you as much then. I just didn't know.

We pass by the harbor where the small fishing boats lay, freezing on their own. The sky is pink but the sea is black, and my arms are tight around your waist. I think that, if this was a movie about me, or about you, or about us, they would play Heroes now. Or maybe you would have preferred Ever Fallen in Love or some of the others on the list of songs that make my throat grow thick.

I ask you if you are back for real now, if you promise to never leave again. One of your hands let go of the handle and come down to briefly touch mine. It’s still a touch and it’s enough.

_Just for one day._

~

When I open the door, everything just hits me like a bucket of water. I had promised to have birthday dinner with you and mam at home. You appear in the kitchen doorway and if a look could kill, I would die instantly.

“Liam.”

You elbow past me, not even giving me a look before rushing up the stairs. There’s a cake on the table, chocolate, some white frosting. A piece is missing, crumbs on a plate tells me mam felt sorry for you.

“He really looked forward to you coming” mam stands up from her seat and gathers your plate. I hope she doesn't feel the alcohol on my breath.

“Mam, I’m-”

“It’s alright, dear, I will warm some dinner for you”

I kind of feel like I’ve spit on two angels when I go up to our room. The window is open, the curtains flickers angrily in the wind and I realise you're long gone. On my bed there’s a square wrapped up in yesterday's newspaper. My name is written on a post-it note with a red pen, the letters makes me sad because I can picture you writing them with that concentrated little wrinkle between your brows. I pick it up and open the paper, putting the note with your letters in the back pocket of my jeans. The content of the gift makes me feel at least hundred times worse. Ticket to Ride. Our song. Vinyl single. I can feel my heart aching out in the fingertips. A cigarette and a condom lays under it and I smile, almost hearing your laugh. I think of you buying it with your pocket money at the record store and you and your red gel-pen and you and your excitement and I heavily sit down on the bed. My mind screams at me that I don’t deserve you. That the world doesn't deserve you. I agree.

~

We are together when you try ecstasy for the first time. You lay in my my lap and rub the side of your face against my jeans.

”Noel. Did I ever tell you I love you? Like real fucking much?” your voice is almost a whine and I grin amused, reaching out to drag my fingertips over your sweaty neck.

”I can’t remember that” I answer with apparent sarcasm in my voice that you don't seem yo notice. You just melt into my touch before your eyes widen dramatically.

”Fuck Noel don’t pretend that you didn’t know! It’s always been like that. And will always be. Always” you dig your finger into my chest with slurring words and the surface of your eyes are getting glossy. Your pupils are so large it almost makes me laugh. 

”Marry me then” I shrug and you batter your ridiculously long eyelashes at me and nod with enthusiasm.

”Yeah”

”Yeah?”

”Right now”

”I wish I could”

”You can, we can”

”No we fucking can’t Liam”

The conversation goes back and forth until you end up crying into my stomach, wiping your eyes with my shirt and I make a note to not forget how sensitive you become when high.

~

Louise always comes home at seven and that’s why I despite that number. She stands in the doorway of the living room and looks at me with that mixture of pity and annoyance, but still asks me if I would like to stay for dinner even though I say always ’no’. She does it because she's a good person. It would be much easier for me to hate her if she wasn’t.

When I walk past her into the hallway I subconsciously wipe my lips with the sleeve of my shirt. Is it visible to her that I had your cock in my mouth just minutes ago?

You follow me to the station. Your hand is in the back pocket of my jeans all the way. Warm, familiar... mine. You kiss your fingertips before placing them on my cheek before you leave and say that you will call. I wait for the train and feel like a dark dirty secret. Like she's the main course and I’m the guilty dessert. A weekend entertainment. She doesn't have a clue. The thought makes me excited for about one minute, then I just feel a bit unclean and have to chain-smoke three cigarettes until it goes away because that’s not the Liam-way of thinking.

~

“Remember when we shagged for the first time? I thought you had left, man”

“You have such low thoughts about me?”

“You always leave though, Noel”

“How did this turn into a fucking therapy session?”

“Noel.”

“I would bring you if I could”

“You can bring me.” 

 

“Soon.”

“Promise me”

”Promise you”

 ~

I look at the photograph of you two, put in a frame next to a vase with a dying tulip in it. She kisses your cheek. You smile in that way where your eyes become half-moons and you get lines around your mouth. You are both wearing red. It’s the color of love. It makes me think that; okay, maybe I was wrong. Maybe you're meant to be. Maybe I just have to accept it. A petal falls from the flower: it’s flying through the air like a feather before it lands on the floor. Your arms wrap around me from behind; I feel your heart beating against my back. You kiss my forehead, then my lips, gently, like I was as fragile as the petal on the floor. I realise I wasn't wrong at all. She doesn't stand a fucking chance against this.

_There’s nobody who does._


End file.
